The Rise and Fall of Camelot
by xxBoppingAllTheWayxx
Summary: In London, the local Dollhouse is given the choice to stand with Rossum or face its considerable ire; how will they react with the consequences of their actions?


**Name: _The Rise and Fall of Camelot  
_Prologue: _Camelot Rises  
_Author: xxBoppingAllTheWayxx  
**

* * *

'You're selling off our Actives?' Suddenly, the leather chair in which she'd seated herself felt all too similar to the infernal piece of hardware hiding in the bowels of the building, helped none too well by the indifferent smile of the blonde woman in front of her. The command that this waif held in the room was astounding, powerful far beyond her petite personage, and it was easy to forget that the imprint inside was actually a forty-year-old balding man with a seafood allergy.

'We're leading Rossum into a new age of service,' the soprano trill spilt naturally from the ingénue, but the grandiose betrayed the truth of her identity. Clive Ambrose, in a skirt too short and blouse cut low enough to teeter on the edge of outright obscenity, reclined against the desk, paying no attention as his—_her_ belt tarnished the sheen. 'And if anyone can appreciate what it is we do here, it's you…'

The fire in her eyes danced and flickered with merriment as she took in the effect of her words. The London branch had been excelling as of late, and there was talk 'from above' of a possible relocation of Rossum Headquarters to a more central European platform, so Clive noted with satisfaction that its House Head was struggling to keep composed as the conversation drew onwards.

'What we're offering here; well, it could change the world – we take the old, the infirm—'

'The rich.'

'The _financially secure_. We give people the ultimate gift – life.' The last word hung in the air, cold and lifeless, leeching the energy from the room in ironic glory.

'At the cost of our Actives' lives.'

'At a cost of eight million dollars; I know which I would rather have.' Reaching behind her, the Active currently known as Clive ran her hand over the fruit bowl, before selecting an apple and bringing it into view. 'At this very moment, there are thirty versions of me having this conversation all over the world – some Houses will oppose the decision, others will stand with us and rise to glory.' With a sickening crunch, Clive bit into the apple, relishing the sweetness through taste buds unsullied by a lifetime of Cuban cigars and Scotch whiskey. 'The question is: where will you fall?'

It was as if the world was falling away from her as breath caught in her throat, the room spinning around her as the words sunk in. She was being given the choice to sell off the young, defenseless—_broken_, her conscience chipped in—people whom had signed themselves over to her care, or to stand alone against her employers and face their no-doubt considerable wrath. It took her a moment to realize that Clive had begun talking again, moving towards the door that led back down to the holding area.

'…understand how difficult a decision this is, especially for someone in your position.'

The words cut through her like a blade, knowing instantly to what the Rossum representative was referring. She braced herself for the cruel truth that had been flaunted in her face repeatedly, any time that she had attempted to resist the machinations of the mother corporation. She watched as Clive bit once more into the apple, before tossing it at her across the room and spinning on her heel to walk through the door, with her parting shot echoing along the corridor.

'After all, you were a Doll once'

Julianna caught the apple without consciously thinking about it, bringing it to her lips and taking a bite of the fruit, finding it soured beyond enjoyment; remembering with a grim smile as she did so that the taste of forbidden fruit has always been the price of illicit knowledge.

* * *

'The Zen Garden, on your left, is where you will partake in a daily regime of exercise and meditation.'

'Nice, I like what I see…' The intonation made it clear to Julianna that the man held no interest in the spiritual wellbeing he would soon be receiving, but rather more focused on the group of young women clad in tracksuits.

'Moving on; we have an in-House medic, who will ensure you remain healthy throughout your time with us, and across the courtyard, a Cordon Bleu chef will provide you with only the best quality food. In short, you will be treated like a prince for your stay with us.'

Normally, she would have given the spiel before approaching the candidate with paperwork, but this young man had asked to get the formalities through firstly; ever efficient, though, she managed to squeeze in a tour en route to the imprinting chamber. Their final destination loomed ahead, hidden behind two sturdy doors that slowly swung open on their approach.

'Nice trick, good for the punters.' The man's cavalier attitude was beginning to grate, and Julianna found herself looking forward to the forthcoming wipe and the ensuing lack of arrogance; there was something oddly endearing about the childlike dependency of an Active, about their sheer helplessness and the lack of understanding of the dark corners of humanity.

With the doors fully opened, Julianna led the man inside. The first sign that this place was different from the rest of the complex was the lighting. Within the imprint chamber, it was dim, almost shadowy, and a stark contrast from the crisp, clinical lights found outside. The path wound downwards, curling into a spiral until opening out into what appeared to be an amphitheatre bathed in a pulsating blue light from its centre. She paused and gestured around the circle, her voice clear and reverberating in the space.

'This is the imprint chamber; here you will undergo your initial uploading and, in five years, where you will be released upon completion of your contract.' She watched as the youth began to explore the room, running his hands over the stone plinths erected around the circle, before another room filled the air.

'Miss Warwick, we're ready for Lancelot now.'

The man turned to face the stranger; a young woman of Irish descent whom, with a clipboard in one hand and a worryingly large acupuncture needle in the other, he assumed was the woman he was told about during his initial meeting with Julianna. Eying the pin suspiciously, he addressed her with a simple question.

'Lancelot?'

'Every Active in this facility, as with each House, is assigned a codename; here in London,' she paused as she looked at her clipboard before regaining eye contact. 'House protocol dictates an appropriate theme.' As she spoke, she made her way briskly towards the source of the blue light: a large boulder off-centre that glowed from within with ethereal light. Only upon closer inspection, the large power cable and flashing LEDs betrayed its technological origins rather than bolstering the mythological atmosphere, though the low light made it somewhat forgivable to miss.

'If you could just take a seat, here…' The doctor guided him into a recess cut into the faux-stone, and Julianna watched as the man settled himself in. 'The initial uploading process might… _pinch_ a bit, but it's nothing to worry about. Just relax, and we'll have you done in no time.'

'Page me when he's ready for wiping.' Julianna turned on her heel, beginning her stride out of the stone circles, without looking back at the man now restrained with leather bands. She had almost made it back to the doors before the sound of his screaming reached her ears. With the doors closing behind her, she made her way to the office to study once more the folder that she had ordered to be pulled from the archives.

From the pages before her, she saw a familiar smile and eyes staring back at her - a face she had seen in the mirror year after countless year. She would spent weeks trying to understand what she had gone through for five years, and yet even with it all written in front of her, the detachment she felt from her own body still tugged at her with every waking moment.

Six years ago, she had single-handedly saved her husband's corporation from succumbing to the economic downturn, only to learn he had been embezzling funds for years beforehand into a private, offshore account. She had tried to confront him about it, and quickly found herself without a job, without a home and without a husband; that was when Rossum stepped in to put her to sleep with the promise that when she next awoke, all of her problems would be resolved.

One year ago, they put 'Morgana' to sleep and wakened Julianna once more. Rehabilitation was swift, and they took glee in informing her that her problems had indeed been solved. Her husband had been arrested for possessing indecent material he swore wasn't his; his company had gone bust but they had the foresight to cash in her shares the day beforehand and she was now sitting on a personal fortune that could fund a third-world country till the next millennium. As well as this, they had been impressed with the business acumen she had clearly demonstrated before her long rest, and had an offer of employment for her.

Lost in half-muddled memory, she was jolted from her recollections by the beeping from her belt. She knew without looking that it would be from the Imprint Chamber, and what it meant. Closing the folder and returning it to her desk drawer, she stood and straightened the creases out of her dress. It was time to welcome Lancelot to the kingdom of Camelot…


End file.
